


sometimes you love a person just because they feel like home

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Infertility, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-01-05 23:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: a home for all of my mark & bridget ficlets. mostly from tumblr prompts :)





	1. blue soup

**Author's Note:**

> for missbecky's prompt: It's Mark's birthday, and Bridget decides to make some blue soup as a gag gift. Only of course it goes all wrong.

How one could possible fuck up something that you’ve already fucked up was beyond Bridget’s comprehension, but she had somehow managed it. 

It was Mark’s birthday, and Bridget had decided to keep things quiet and intimate instead of going all out. For Mark’s fortieth birthday, she had answered the door as naked as the day she was born, wearing nothing but an apron, only to come face-to-face with a completely bewildered Mark and about four of his colleagues. The absolute panic-stricken look on Mark’s face and exasperated whispering he directed at her after dragging her off into the bedroom was enough to completely ruin the rest of the festivities she had planned for the night.

Instead of going for seduction this time around, Bridget had decided to make a pot of blue soup for Mark when he came home from work. She thought it was sweet and nostalgic and would inevitably give him a laugh. The soup in front of her, however, was far from blue. In fact, it looked perfectly normal, and if she dared, it even looked delicious.

“How the fuck do you fuck up something that  _needs_  to be wrong?” she muttered to herself as she stirred the clear brother in front of her. Annoyed, she poked at a carrot with her spoon. 

From the front of the house, Bridget heard the door open as Mark let himself in. 

“Bridget?” he called out. She heard the familiar sound of his attache case being placed on the marble floor and the jingling of his keys as he placed them in the bowl by the door. “Darling, where are you?”

“In here,” she called back. The soup was now up to a rolling boil, and the carrot she had jabbed at earlier was now bouncing around inside the pot. She let out a sharp huff before turning around to where Mark was entering the kitchen.

He came through the entryway, pulling his suit jacket off and dropping it on the back of a kitchen chair. Even after all these years, the sight of him made Bridget’s heart catch in her throat. He smiled warmly at her as he crossed the kitchen and pinned her against the countertop.

“Hello,” he said, smiling down at her. 

“Hello,” she replied, going up on her tiptoes to peck him on the lips. “How has your birthday been so far?”

“Much better now that I’m home. What are you up to?”

Bridget sighed before turning back towards the stove. She looked at the soup and shook her head. “You’ll never believe me, even if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Well…I thought it would be a sweet gesture to make some blue soup for your birthday. But I’ve somehow managed to make perfectly normal soup. It actually smells quite good.” She leaned over the pot and took a sniff before turning back towards Mark with a petulant look.

“Oh, Bridget,” he murmured, leaning over her shoulder to look at the soup himself. “It does look rather good.”

She let out a groan. “I can’t do anything right.”

“Now hush,” he said, turning around towards the cabinet above the sink. “This is entirely fixable.” He rummaged a bit inside before letting out a soft, “Ah-ha!” Mark turned around with a jubilant look on his face a he held out a tiny, blue vial. “It isn’t string, but it should do the trick.” He reached around Bridget, pressing his chest against hers, and held the vial over the pot. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and four or five indigo colored drops fell from the tip. Soon, the entire pot of soup turned a brilliant shade of blue.

“See? Blue soup.”

Bridget laughed at this, giddy with love and admiration. “What would I do without you?”

“Apparently eat perfectly normal soup.” Mark grinned at her, his face a map of creases and dimples, and Bridget felt herself go weak at the knees.

“Happy birthday, Mark.” Bridget wrapped her arms around his waist and tilted her face towards his. He kissed her happily, letting his hands slip down to her arse, where he gave a quick squeeze. 

She may not have been naked and the soup may have been blue, but it was one of the best birthdays Mark had ever had. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the tumblr prompt: Mark finding out about Bridget’s Colin Firth interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjyoWj1GICo) the video if you haven't seen it!

Bridget should’ve known he had found it the second he started acting weird. He had come home from chambers on a Friday, closed off to her with that panicked, trapped glint in his eye that he often got when emotions were involved. 

“Darling, what’s wrong?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him from behind as he undid his tie.

“Hmm?” he hummed noncommittally.

“Mark, there’s something wrong. I can tell just by looking at you.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Mark.”

The tone in her voice was enough to let him know that she wasn’t going to let it lie. He let out a huff before turning around, his undone tie hanging loosely around his neck.

“I just don’t understand what it is about him that you’re so besotted over.”

Bridget pulled back, her face confused. “I’m sorry, what in the world are you talking about?”

Rolling his eyes as he kept his lips in a tight line, Mark said, “It’s the wet shirt, isn’t it? Would you be more attracted to me if I went and stood in the shower?” He was now gesticulating wildly towards the en suite, one hand limp at his side while the other flapped ineffectively in the air. 

It then dawned on Bridget what he was talking about.

“Ah,” she said with a smile. “I see.”

“See what? That I don’t have dimples like him, or that my hair is going gray while his still looks like it belongs on a Pantene commercial?”

Bridget gently lifted her hand to Mark’s cheek. It was flushed and warm under her hand as she lazily dragged her thumb back and forth. She smiled at him softly before saying, “Mark, you’re absolutely daft.”

At this, he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I know it’s bloody stupid, but I just don’t  _get_  it.”

“You don’t have to, darling. Your dimples are equally if not more attractive than Colin’s, and I personally love your gray hair.” She paused. “If I’m to be honest with you, he made me incredibly nervous. He’s a hand talker, and he was constantly recrossing his legs and it was all very awkward.”

“You talked about his erection quite a bit.”

“We mostly talked about his wet shirt.”

“Bridget.”

“Look, Mark, it was at the beginning of my career. I’m  _much_  more articulate now.”

Mark sighed in exasperation before yanking his tie completely off. He tossed it onto the bed behind Bridget and took a step forward. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he looked down at her. 

“You drive me mad, Bridget Jones.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Imagine Mark and Bridget stuck in an elevator after they've had a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: infertility is mentioned, so if that's something you're struggling with, this chapter just might not be for you.

As they stepped onto the lift, they were both silent. It was the umpteenth time they’d crossed its threshold in the past year. Mark gently placed his hand on her lower back as she stepped inside, her arms crossed protectively across her chest. Bridget pressed the lobby button, and the lift began its slow descent towards the first floor. 

After some time standing in silence, Bridget felt Mark turn towards her.

“Darling,” he began. “Are you alright?”

Bridget turned her head towards him, tears filling her eyes as she swallowed around the lump in her throat. Unable to speak, she simply shook her head. 

Immediately, Mark crossed the space between them and pulled her into him. He wrapped his arms around her, tightening his grip as he pressed his lips into the crown of her head. 

“I thought this time would be different,” she said, her voice muffled by Mark’s chest. “I feel like an absolute fucking failure.”

“Oh, Bridget. My darling, sweet Bridget.”

“Six rounds, Mark. Six rounds of IVF and here I am, still barren. I could vomit.” She was now openly sobbing at this point, her hands desperately grabbing at the lapels of Mark’s jacket as she bent her head against his heartbeat. “I just wanted this one thing to work. Just this once.”

Mark tried to soothe her, using the flat of his palm to rub a calming circle against her back as his lips whispered reassurances into her hair. The sobs now racking through her body were shaking his own, and he could feel himself welling up. 

“I failed us, Mark,” she whispered, pulling back to look at him. 

“Bridget, don’t say that.”

“I did, though. You wanted this as much as I did, if not more…I let us down.”

“Bridget,” Mark said more sternly. “Stop. Enough.”

Bridget’s eyes glinted int he light of the lift as it continued downward, her mouth becoming an angry line. “I won’t stop. I can’t stop. I’m heartbroken and angry and you just won’t let me mourn.” At this, she angrily swiped under her eyes to try and clean the mascara that now ran there before turning her back to him.

Before Mark could fix his wrongdoing, the elevator came to a stuttering halt as the lights flickered. He looked up at the numbers that had slowly been ticking their way towards one, but they had also come to a full stop. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered as Bridget said, “As if this day couldn’t get any fucking worse.”

Mark ran his hand through his hair as he let out a slow, shaky breath. He had been fighting down his own emotions after leaving Dr. Swanson’s office, but he knew that Bridget would be far more fragile than he felt. Now, looking at her across the dimly lit elevator, his heart heaved in his chest. He had been with this woman for almost ten years, and all they had both wanted from the other was a family to call their own. She had endured so much pain and emotional burden, all with a smile on her face.

This last round, though, had completely broken her spirit.

Without trying to stop his own tears from falling, Mark held his hand out to Bridget in a silent invitation. He could feel his lower lip quivering as the tears left warm streaks on his cheekbones. Bridget was now crying, too, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip as tears spilled over her eyelashes. Mark gave her a small nod, encouraging her to come to him.

Bridget dropped her arms at her sides before raking her fingers through her hair. She wiped at her eyes, letting out a sob, and then took Mark’s hand. He closed the small fingers in his own, encompassing her entire hand in his. Gently, he tugged her forward and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tightly as he cried into her hair.

They stood like that until the lights flickered back on and the lift jolted back to life. 


	4. whisky lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Will is teething and Bridget hasn't had any sleep in days. Mark to the rescue!

It was close enough to one o’clock in the morning that the appearance of Bridget in the doorway of the master suite was enough to make Mark scramble for something heavy on his nightstand as he shouted, “Who is it?!” As he blinked into the darkness, he realized just how idiotic he must look, holding a copy of Dostoevsky aloft over his head as he squinted towards the door.

He heard a whimper, which prompted him to click on the bedside lamp and fumble around for his glasses. As he placed them on the bridge of his nose, he saw Bridget standing in a nightgown with the words, “I NEED COFFEE” emblazoned across the chest. Will was hanging from her hip, his face red and tear-streaked, drool pouring out of his mouth as his lower lip quivered. Bridget’s hair was messily pulled up into a ponytail, and Mark could see the bags under her eyes from across the room.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Does it look like everything is alright?” she huffed.

Mark let out a hum before saying, “I suppose not.”

Bridget was now padding towards the bed, bouncing Will on her hips as she walked. His blonde curls haloed his head, and there was something so innocent and sweet about his footie pajamas that Mark couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. He pushed himself up on the mattress into a better sitting position before holding his arms out towards Bridget. 

“What seems to be the problem?” he said softly, taking his son from Bridget and settling him on his lap. 

Bridget sat on the edge of the bed near Mark’s legs, looking at the two of them with exhausted fondness. “Teeth, that’s the problem. He’s been cutting a molar for over a week now and the minute he goes down to sleep, he starts to scream bloody murder.”

Mark had been out of town for that week, working on a case in Bangladesh. He had just flown in earlier that day, jet lagged but happy to be home. Bridget, of course, hadn’t told him a lick of what had been happening back home while he was away–she knew the severity of the case at hand, and he was positive she didn’t want to distract him with something mundane like a teething baby. 

Mark didn’t find it mundane, though. He felt guilty, in all honesty. Bridget had been putting up with all of the fuss and crying by herself while he had been away. 

“I’ll handle tonight, darling. You go to sleep.”

Bridget smiled at him. “I was looking forward to cuddling up with you, though.”

Mark, who now had his lips pressed against the curls of Will’s hair, looked at his wife over their son’s head. Even with spit up and drool dribbling down her nightgown, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. If he were to be honest with himself, he had wanted to spend the night entangled with Bridget, too. Not intimately…just for familiarity’s sake. 

On his lap, Will squirmed and let out another whimper, to which Mark soothingly shushed him. His son burrowed his head into the crook of Mark’s neck, the drool soaked lovey in his hands rubbing up against Mark’s skin. Mark gave him a quick peck on the crown of his head before dumping him back in Bridget’s lap.

“Give me one moment,” he said, throwing the covers back and letting his feet hit the floor. 

Bridget looked bewildered, but didn’t say anything. Mark disappeared through the door of the bedroom and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He rummaged around in the cabinets until he found what he was looking for, then went back up to the bedroom with his discovery in-hand. 

As he entered the room, Bridget looked at him with fond exasperation.

“Mark, we can’t. Trust me, I thought of it, but we can’t.”

“Bridget, you’re desperate. I’m desperate. I haven’t properly slept in over a week because you weren’t there, and you clearly are exhausted. It’s just once. We’ll rub a little on his gums and then plop him into the crib.”

Bridget eyed him warily, her gaze drifting between his face and the bottle of whisky he had dangling from his hand. After what felt like an eternity, she let out a huff before locking eyes with him.

“We can’t tell Mum.”

“Oh god, of course not.”

“You’re doing it. I can’t bear to do it.”

Mark laughed at this before sitting on the mattress next to her. “I’m not lining him up seven shot glasses. It’s just a little dribble of whisky to put him to sleep.” He unscrewed the cap of the bottle and placed it on the nightstand before holding the tip of his finger onto the opening. He turned the bottle upside down until his fingertip was thoroughly soaked, then gently pried Will’s lips apart. After some writhing around from Will, Mark was finally able to administer the whisky onto Will’s gums. Almost instantly, Will quieted down and looked up at Mark with doleful eyes. 

“Bloody genius,” Bridget murmured, craning her neck around Will’s head to get a better look at his face. 

“An old Darcy family secret,” Mark whispered, smirking at her over Will’s head.

Will had popped his thumb into his mouth and his eyes were slowly growing heavy. Bridget looked equally as exhausted as their son, so Mark held out his hands. Without a word, Bridget pressed a kiss to Will’s head before depositing him into Mark’s awaiting grasp.

“I’ll be right back,” Mark whispered as Will’s head lolled onto his shoulder. 

Bridget smiled and gave him the “OK” sign with her fingers before crawling under the covers.

A few minutes later, once Will was tucked carefully into his crib with his lovey, Mark reentered the bedroom. Bridget was fast asleep under the covers, her mouth agape as a soft snore left her lips. Mark grinned. Clicking off the bedside lamp, he slid under the covers and scooted across the mattress until the front of his body was flush with the back of Bridget’s. He spooned closely up against her, feeling her warmth seep into his pajamas as her steady breathing continued to escape in snores. 

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered. 


	5. build my whole world around you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: mark & bridget on a road trip!

It wasn’t the first time Mark and Bridget were making the four hour trip up to Bangor, but it was the first time Mark had willingly participated in singing along with Bridget in the car. 

They had left early in the morning, two steaming travel mugs of coffee in the console between them as Mark held Bridget’s hand over the gear shift. For once, he didn’t talk about work, or make phone calls while she dozed in the passenger seat. Instead, he initiated a game of I Spy that left her breathless, because he somehow always managed to make his guesses naughty, and he even made a stop at a scenic overpass to stand with Bridget in the brisk October air to look at the expanse of red and gold leaves that stretched out in front of them. 

After a quick lunch, they piled back into the BMW and got back onto the M40. A few moments into the drive, Bridget had reached over and fiddled with the radio. Station after station flashed by on the display, and snippets of songs left her with a look of disappointment. She could feel Mark tensing up beside her–he hated when she couldn’t make a decision–and he soon let out a long, steady breath from his mouth.

“Everything alright?” she asked, glancing at him out of the side of her eye.

“Hmm? Yes, fine. You?”

“Just fine.”

The only sound that followed was the rapid succession of songs as Bridget continued to scroll through the stations. Mark shifted in the driver’s seat as Bridget bit the inside of her cheek. She loved to ruffle him up over silly things, and she could tell that he was slowly getting agitated with her indecisiveness. She was just about to make a fresh round of all the stations when Mark suddenly spoke up.

“Wait! Stop scrolling!”

Bridget retracted her hand from the radio as if it were suddenly on fire. She looked over at Mark, eyes agog as he started to drum on the steering wheel. He had jutted his chin out as he hummed along to the intro, and his eyes were closed, which simultaneously surprised and scared Bridget as they continued to whiz down the M40. 

Before she could ask him if he was alright, Mark started to sing. 

“Oh, if I could build my whole world around you, darling, first I’d put Heaven by your side…”

Bridget let out a laugh, amazed and smitten with the man in front of her. 

“Mark, I had no idea that you’re a Marvin Gaye fan,” she said over the music.

“More of a Tammi Terrell fan, if I’m to be honest,” he replied with a grin. Without missing a beat, he started singing along to the song again, pointing at Bridget with a free hand while his tone deaf baritone wavered along to the music. 

Grinning like an idiot, Bridget grabbed a hairbrush out of her handbag and joined in with him, using the handle of the brush as a microphone. At one point, Mark grabbed it from her hands and sang into it, his head leaned in towards Bridget as he kept his eyes trained on the highway in front of him. 

When the song had finished, they were both breathless and laughing. Mark grabbed Bridget’s hand once again over the gear shift before bringing it up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“You can be the Tammi Terrell to my Marvin Gaye anytime,” he said with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the song!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cQURXodc4c)


	6. without the dark, we'd never see the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt, "things you said under the stars and in the grass."

Fingers laced with Mark’s, lying flat on her back under the night sky, Bridget tried to commit the moment to memory. The long, sweet smelling grass they were nestled in was tickling her bare legs and playing with her hair, and she could feel Mark’s hot breath in her ear as he whispered about the constellations that spread out above them. 

“Right there, that one by the tree branches? That’s Hercules. You can tell by the very bright star--M13, if I’m not mistaken.” Bridget felt him roll away from her, his hand still clasped in hers. In her peripheral vision, she saw him pillow his head on his other bicep, taking a long, deep breath before continuing. “My favorite, though, is the Little Dipper.  _ Ursa Minor _ . The Little Bear.” 

He tilted his head back to face Bridget, his breath tickling the grass near her face and ghosting across her cheek. It smelled like cabernet and cinnamon. Bridget turned to face him, soaking in the wine flush across his cheeks and the sparkle in his eyes that even the darkness of night couldn’t dull. He was smirking at her, the dimple in his cheek a cavernous shadow thrown across his skin. Bridget smiled back at him, the buzz of the alcohol from dinner thrumming through her veins and the love in her heart for Mark Darcy threatening to beat straight out of her chest.

“You’re my  _ Ursa Minor _ , Bridget,” he said, bringing his free hand up to gently cup her cheek. 

Bridget couldn’t help the furrow in her brow as she looked at him. “I”m like a little bear to you? Is that because I like to be little spoon?”

Mark rolled onto his back with a joyous laugh, the wine in his system dropping his walls and allowing him to express himself freely. Bridget propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him and grinning. She couldn’t help it. Whenever Mark was drunk, it was like being with an entirely different person. He became carefree and even a bit rebellious, and Bridget couldn’t get enough of it. 

They had come to this inn--the one that she and Daniel had spent their very first mini break at--because Mark told her he wanted to start fresh. She had agreed willingly, understanding where he was coming from, and excited to spend a lazy weekend with her overworked boyfriend. It promised to be three full days of lie-ins and champagne and rowboats. 

It was their first night at the inn, and Mark had managed to arrange a dinner on the balcony that overlooked the pond. They drank far too much wine and ate far too much food, but by the end of the meal they were bubbly and handsy, Mark openly flirting with her across the empty dessert plates. He had taken her hand, dragging her down the formal staircase and into the lobby, out the front doors and into the fresh July night. Slinking an arm around her waist, Mark took her up and over the hills of the grounds, the two just walking in silence as the sound of crickets softly echoed into the breeze. 

This was how they now found themselves tucked into the tall grass, just far enough away from the inn that there was no other light illuminating them besides the moon and the stars. Mark had kissed her, pulling her down onto the ground to slot himself over her body as his hand pushed the hem of her dress up. It wasn’t long before she had unbuttoned his trousers, pushing them off of his hips…

Yes, drunk Mark was always surprising.

As she watched him now, his body shaking with laughter and his shirt still untucked, Bridget couldn’t help leaning over him to capture his smile with her lips. She kissed him passionately, her hand sliding up his jaw and into his hair, and the laughter bubbling from his chest eventually ceased as his hands found purchase on her hips. Breaking apart, Bridget looked down at him, his eyes blown wide and the crinkles at the corners of his mouth deep from the grin he was wearing.

“You’re my North Star, Bridget,” he murmured, pushing a lock of her hair away from her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. “I’ll always follow you, because you’re home to me.”


	7. come rain or come shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark has a remarkably green thumb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the "I love you" prompt, "As we huddle together, the storm raging outside"

“It’s pouring buckets out there!”

Bridget looked up from her worn copy of  _Pride & Prejudice_, sticking a finger between the pages to hold her place. A fond smile spread across her face as she looked at her husband standing in the entryway, his silver hair plastered to his forehead and the shoulders of his mustard-colored jumper soaked through. She watched as he braced his hand against the door frame, struggling to pull the wellies off of his feet. 

He let out a grunt, finally freeing his foot from its rubber entrapment before moving onto the next one.

“I was halfway through pruning the roses when the skies opened up,” he said towards the door, his hand now working on the other boot. 

It was still so odd to hear words like this fall out of Mark’s mouth. It had only been a few years–six, maybe seven?–since he had retired from the Inns of Court. Finally putting paperwork in at the age of seventy, he had come home from his last day of work with an oddly impish smile on his face. 

“Let’s leave London and buy a cottage in the country,” he had said. “Just you and I. Will is on his own now, and Mabel will be graduating in a year’s time. Think about how lovely it would be, just the two of us all cozied up in a tiny little home up in the Cotswolds.” 

It had taken some prodding from Bridget to get him to agree to keep a flat in the city, but they eventually took the plunge and purchased a quaint little home only two hours from London. After a few months of renovations and redecorating, the place finally felt like home, and Bridget ended up realizing that the quiet country life was actually quite nice.

Mark, on the other hand, had been prone to prowling around the small cottage, muttering under his breath and creating projects that didn’t need creating. 

“You need a hobby,” Bridget told him one night, tucked under the quilt in the master bedroom with her hand splayed across his chest.

Mark had peered at her through the line of his bifocals, a deep frown creasing his mouth.

“A hobby?”

“Yes, a hobby. Like, I don’t know…what about gardening?”

The suggestion had been innocent, something Bridget thought Mark would never take to, but his eyes had lit up at the mention of it. 

“Hmm, yes, gardening. That’s actually not a half bad idea,” he had said. “There’s a few rose bushes on the property. I suppose I could start there.”

“Of course, darling,” she had responded, patting his hand affectionately. “Whatever you want.”

That had been years ago, and Bridget was still in awe of Mark’s remarkably green thumb. The few rose bushes that had inspired him originally were now a full garden, complete with lattices covered in pink sprays and big bushes heavy with yellow petals. He had sweet peas and foxgloves, blood red hollyhocks and heavy-headed peonies. Wisteria hung from the pergola over their patio, and bees lazily floated among his phlox. 

He now stood in the doorway, a bunch of roses and sweet peas clutched in his hand as they dripped onto the welcome mat, his toes flexing in his socks as he squinted at her through mist-covered glasses. He crossed the space between them, taking his glasses off to try and dry them off on the front of his jumper. Bridget watched him with swelling affection as he stopped in front of her.

“Wellington boots are truly amazing,” he murmured. “Not an inch of my feet are wet.” 

She laughed at this, loudly and warmly, before Mark leaned forward and claimed her mouth with his. Even after all the years together and apart, the sensation of his lips against her still sent a shiver down her spine. She found herself smiling dumbly up at him as he pulled away. Kissing her forehead, he started to walk away from her towards the kitchen.

“I’m just going to pop these in some water,” he called behind him.

“Alright,” she replied, shifting herself down the couch a bit further to leave him a spot for when he returned. She curled her feet under her again, the dumb smile on her face lingering. Like habit, she knew he’d return from the kitchen with two mugs of tea and the freshly picked flowers in a vase, tucked in the crook of his arm. Sighing as she looked out into the storm, she found herself murmuring, “God, I love that man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there anything sweeter than old man Mark?


	8. rest your weary head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt, "i can sleep anywhere, as long as i'm with you" <3

The last possible thing Mark wanted was a two-hour delay. After two weeks of Tahitian sun and endless shags, he had wanted to end their honeymoon on a high note, but it seemed that the  Fa'a'ā International Airport had other plans for them.

“I read about this on the customer reviews,” he mumbled, heaving their carry-ons onto a nearby bench. The lack of air conditioning in the airport was already causing him to sweat through the cotton button-down he was wearing underneath his navy blazer. 

Bridget smirked at him. “I can’t believe you actually  _ researched _ the airport. Hotel and sights I could understand, but who looks into the airport itself?” 

“When you travel-- _ traveled _ \--as often as I do, you start becoming aware of how poorly these places are run.” He sat next to their luggage on the red leather bench, grimacing at the squeak it let out as he adjusted himself on the seat. “Luckily Tahiti’s good outweighed its bad,” he continued, unbuttoning the top of his shirt. 

“I’ll say,” Bridget said with a wink. 

She pushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes, and Mark couldn’t help but be enamored with the motion. Two weeks in the sun and surf had bleached her hair even blonder than before, and a gorgeous tan covered her skin, only to be dotted with darker freckles along her shoulders and nose. She had piled her hair into a messy top knot before leaving the hotel, baring her collarbone and shoulders in a white linen sundress. 

The attendant at the front desk of the hotel had become fond of Bridget--how could she not?--and had pinned a tiare blossom behind her left ear as they left the lobby. “To show that you are taken,” the attendant had said, winking in Mark’s direction. 

“Should we also give my husband one?” Bridget had replied playfully, looking over her freckled shoulder to grin at him.

Mark conceded to let them place the flower in his left jacket lapel instead of tucking it behind his ear. He had been rewarded with a soft, sweet kiss from his wife, and a broad grin from the desk attendant. 

He now looked down at the flower, still securely tucked into the buttonhole of his blazer. It had wilted slightly in the heat, but the soft, sweet fragrance that Mark had come to associate with his wife among rumpled white sheets lingered in the air. Absentmindedly, he readjusted it so that it sat a little higher. It was a small beacon of happiness in the otherwise oppressive airport. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Mark could see Bridget furtively searching for a plug to charge her phone. They had been receiving sporadic photos of Will from her mother during their time away, and he knew that deep down, Bridget was dying to get back to him. He watched with a smirk as she apologized to other travelers as she leaned over their benches, the cord dangling from her hands as the wisp of hair she had tried to tame fell back into her eyes. 

Eventually, she found an outlet between two benches. He watched in abject horror as she plugged in her phone, and then proceeded to sit on the floor, tucking the skirt of her sundress underneath her.

“Bridget,” he muttered, “what are you doing?”

“Charging my phone,” she said innocently, tilting her head up to look at him. 

“You’re sitting on the floor,” he replied, glancing at the others in the waiting area. Nobody seemed to notice the beautiful blonde goddess sprawled out on the tile except him.

Bridget stifled a yawn. “I’m well aware of what I’m doing,” she replied around the back of her hand. He watched the screen of her phone flicker to life, causing a soft smile to cross her face. “Think Mum has sent us any new photos?”

“Bridget,” he said stiffly, “please come up here and sit next to me.” 

Her face broke into one of her famous pouts, and Mark felt himself starting to crumble. 

“Why are you making such a big deal about this?” she said. “I need to charge my phone, the benches are taken, and to be honest, it’s much cooler on this tile floor than on that sticky leather bench.” Mark shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the dampness on the back of his thighs. “Stop being awkwardly impossible and come down here with me.”

“Will you at least sit on my jacket?” he finally replied. 

Bridget beamed at him before saying, “A gentleman to the very end.” She stood up, smoothing down the back of her dress as she did so, and took a step to the side as Mark divested himself of his blazer. Before setting it on the floor, he plucked the tiare flower out of his buttonhole and gently placed it between his teeth. It was impossible to miss the dirty smirk that Bridget shot his way.

Mark watched as Bridget lowered herself onto the back of his jacket, barely taking up half of the fabric with her lithe frame. She stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankle, before looking back up at him and patting the space next to her.

“Well, come on then.”

Mark took the flower out of his teeth and placed his hands on his hips before letting out a huff. He squinted for no real reason--the light wasn’t harsh in the airport--but it felt necessary. He looked down at Bridget, who was now suppressing a smile in his direction.

“Fine.” With a grunt, he crouched down and sat next to Bridget on the other half of his jacket. “I hope you’re pleased.”

“Very much so,” she said smugly, knocking shoulders with him. Mark couldn’t help smiling at that, lifting the flower from his side to tuck it next to the bloom that was already nestled behind her ear. Bridget quickly leaned forward and claimed his mouth with hers, the taste of their morning tea lingering with the salt from her upper lip. He hungrily kissed her back, surprised at his own boldness in such a public place. When they pulled away from each other, he could see the ocean in her eyes and the sun on her skin, and he had to tamp down the urge to kiss her again.

Suddenly, a loud ping sounded from Bridget’s lap. She looked down in surprise, but her face immediately melted into a huge grin. 

“Oh, Mark!” she gushed as the phone pinged again. “Look!” She held the phone between them both, and Mark reached over to hold it with her as he bowed his head against hers. Bridget’s mother had sent them several photos of Will. It seemed they had gone to the zoo, and in almost every photo Will was beaming at the camera, the seven teeth he now had proudly on display. “He looks so happy!” she said, grinning from ear to ear.

“That’s because he’s your son,” Mark replied, placing a kiss against her temple. She bumped into his shoulder again, a certain smugness rounding out her cheeks. 

After searching the photographs a few more times, flipping through them as if they were the last tangible evidence of her son, Bridget finally clicked the phone off and placed it between them. She leaned against the tile wall, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. 

“God, I’m knackered,” she said, her eyelashes fluttering.

“Take a nap, then. The plane won’t be leaving for at least another hour and a half.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, letting her head sag onto his shoulder. “You should take one, too. We have a lot of travel ahead of us, not to mention a one and a half year old waiting for us back on London soil.”

Mark took a second to look around him. There were a few other travelers scattered on the benches, looking just as sweaty and uncomfortable as they did. A security guard stood off to the side, his hands clasped behind his back as he swayed back and forth. 

“I don’t understand how you can fall asleep like this, sitting on the floor in front of all of these people,” he muttered. Bridget laughed against him, her head nestled in the crook of his neck. She reached out her hand and slid it into his, her fingertips trailing fire along his palm before locking their fingers together. 

“Mark, I’ve slept in much worse conditions. Take the rubbish pile outside of my flat for instance. Ohh, or  shall I remind you of the Thai prison?”

This shut him up. He remembered the awful humidity in the prison, women living in terrible conditions and practically sleeping on top of each other. He had valiantly tried to forget Bridget in that place, but it was moments like this that the memories came floating to the surface. It amazed him how nonchalant she could be about it, while he was still tore up about not being able to help sooner.

“No, no need to remind me. I remember it perfectly well,” he replied, his hypothetical tail between his legs. 

“Besides,” she went on, stifling a yawn against his shoulder, “I can sleep anywhere, as long as I’m with you.” 

Mark couldn’t help smiling at that. He turned his head towards her once again, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. She gave his hand an appreciative squeeze, and Mark looked down at their entwined fingers. His platinum band sat nestled between her two fingers, and there was something about the sight of it that made his stomach turn somersaults. It had never felt this way with his other two wives--this was special, and different, and exciting. If he were to be honest, he could sleep anywhere Bridget was, too.

“Fine,” he acquiesced. “I love you very much, Mrs. Darcy. Sleep tight.”

Bridget didn’t hear him. She was already fast asleep against his shoulder, the warm weight of her body pressing against his side. Without waking her, Mark slipped Bridget’s phone from her slackened grip. He set an alarm to go off in a half-hour, then made himself comfortable against the wall. Bridget’s even breathing was comforting, her palm against his a welcome distraction.

It wasn’t long before his eyes slipped shut, his last coherent thought being the scent of tiare flower lingering in the air.


End file.
